" Then suddenly turning to
Hawthorne, he said, "By the way, I would write a new novel if you were
not in the field, Mr. Hawthorne." "I am not," said Hawthorne; "and I
wish you would do it." There was a moment's silence. Holmes said
quickly, "I wish you would come to the club oftener." "I should like
to," said Hawthorne, "but I can't drink." "Neither can I." "Well, but
I can't eat." "Nevertheless, we should like to see you." "But I can't
talk, either." After which there was a shout of laughter. Then said
Holmes, "You can listen, though; and I wish you would come."
On another occasion, when Lowell was present, he was talking of
changes in physical conditions. Dr. Holmes said, now, at the age of
fifty-four, he could eat almost anything set before him, which he
could by no means do formerly. Lowell found opportunity somehow at
this point to laugh at Holmes for having lately said in print that
"Beecher was a man whose thinking marrow was not corrugated by drink
or embrowned by meerschaum." Lowell said _he_ had no "thinking
marrow," and objected to such anatomical terms applied to the best
part of a man.
By and by Lowell came out of his critical mood, and said pleasantly,
after some talk upon lyric poetry in general, "I like your lyrics, you
know, Holmes." "Well," said Holmes, pleased, but speaking earnestly
and with a childlike honesty, "but there is something too hopping
about them. To tell the truth, nothing has injured my reputation so
much as the too great praise which has been bestowed upon my
'windfalls.
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